


Sleeping Beauty

by lover_of_blue_roses



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Magic Just a Little, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Sleeping Curse, Terminal Illnesses, True Love, complicated love, fix-it kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27415774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_of_blue_roses/pseuds/lover_of_blue_roses
Summary: Freddie is dying of AIDS and so it is decided to put him under stasis, under a sleeping curse that he not age, nor continue to grow sick, until a cure is found. But can he be awaken? Sure he is loved, but will their love be enough?
Relationships: Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury, Mary Austin & Freddie Mercury, basically everyone loves him
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: kiss awake

Each and every day they had to watch as Freddie grew more and more ill, until one day this disease would take his life. And there was nothing any of them could do. Or so it seemed.

As much as Jim loved Freddie, love, in this case, would not be enough. He could not tend to Freddie like the flowers of his gardens, there was no amount of effort or attention that could stop this withering. Except... maybe there was. Peter better known as Phoebe had a secret, and not just that he loved his boss' nickname for him although it had to do with that.

Names have power but most especially for Fae, and so to have his identity split like this over multiple names gave him protection, and far more than if his nickname was just 'Pete.' Magic, at least the traditional kind was fading from the world and Phoebe wasn't as powerless as even a half-Fae would have been 200 years ago. But he could still do small tricks, coffee always at the perfect temperature, lint not attaching to clothing, never stubbing his toe.

That was because it was 'order' magic often thought of as 'good' magic, making the world more orderly. The world, however, preferred chaos, and those were the kind of spells it thrived on. If Phoebe wanted to make stacks fall and jars spill, that was far far easier, and was possible on a much grander scale.

He hadn't done it much simply because he wasn't vindictive or cruel, and it served little purpose. But that wasn't the only thing his heritage had in store. He could also theoretically do curses although he'd never done anything more powerful than a bad luck hex on a vulturic paparazzi.

Phoebe was scared to bring it up, there was so much uncertainty. He could probably cast the curse, but what if it couldn't be lifted? What if it didn't work like in the tales? What if it only made things worse? Phoebe would have to be truly desperate to use it, and he was. He couldn't just stand by and do nothing as this virus overcame Freddie, it was going to take him like it was taking everyone.

The Fae would only be strong enough to cast this once and it would drain him of all his magic for years, decades if not all of his life. He couldn't save the whole world, but maybe he could save this man- that meant so much to not just him, his family, all of his friends, but thousands around the world. He still remembers how John Lennon's death rocked the world, the outpouring of grief, and he simply had to try and stop it.

He sat down just Freddie and Jim, they'll tell the others later but first he wants to ask them. It's hard and complicated at first. Magic is real and Phoebe has some. That's a lot for anyone but especially from someone they've known for so long, someone that is offering to curse them.

Thankfully Disney's Sleeping Beauty and Snow White has popularized the idea so that there is very little explanation. It's like a poison that will be imbibed by an object and whoever shall get in their blood, prick themselves upon it, shall be cursed. Their body shall not age as they remain in an unwaking sleep, and in Freddie's case shall not grow sicker. Until such a time that a cure might be found. 

Jim jumps on board, eager and willing, anything to help Freddie. But Freddie isn't so sure, he wonders if maybe the few years, probably less than two, he'll be able to get more work done, his last work but something wonderful to leave to the world. Phoebe and Jim don't understand, he can work once he's better, he can work till he's old and grey, not just nearly a decade out from fifty. Which is when the truth comes, what if a cure is never found? What if Jim dies while Freddie is asleep? He's not worried that no one will be there to wake him, he's more heartbroken at the thought of his love dying in his absence.

But Jim argues, that's just what spurs him on so- he too would be heartbroken at his love dying. Which realistically, presently is the reality. Jim will probably grow sick too, and die eventually as all mortals do, but Freddie faces certain, imminent death.

Freddie has been stronger than stone throughout all of this, never seen to flinch or fear. But this- this is too much. Jim's voice is clearly holding back tears as he clings to his husband and speaks of his passing. This isn't hypothetical or far off, this is all too real and present. Freddie has done everything to keep how this affects him from others, he doesn't want their pity and is nothing but brave. Brave for the fans, the public, the band, but in front of his husband he just can't.

Just a moment of weakness, not even five minutes, but Freddie breaks down and lets Jim hold him, the two of them in this until the end. That's what they had promised in their wedding vows, and that's what Jim had assured him the day Fred got the test results back. 

"Yes," he says in a broken voice, "I want to do it, I want to live."

Phoebe turns away, busying himself with nothing as he tries to give them as much privacy as he can. When Freddie has settled him to his decision he calls his assistant back. Phoebe sits primly as they ignore the red-eyes, all three pairs of them. "Phoebe- Peter thank you," he holds the man's hands tenderly, Phoebe isn't doing this for his employer but for his friend, who clearly sees him as more than an employee too. "This- this could work and so I want to try, I'll have to let the band know first, take care of everything in my absence and put in place measures in case you can't wake me or anything. But even then I just- I think maybe not right away."

Phoebe looks at him, he fears if the singer gets an infection of some kind with his current immune system it might well be too late. But enough time for him to get his affairs in order, that at least is reasonable. And maybe by then, the reality of this proposal will have sunken in.  
-  
Freddie tells the band. While they, mostly Brian and Roger, have a lot of questions about magic, demanding for more proof, questions as to why simply curing him isn't possible, John just sits with him. The bassist holds his hand and breathes in steady, it's clear his father's sickness and death have been affecting him as he tries to look away from it happening to one of his dearest friends. This could really be the thing to break him, he can't imagine how it's affecting Freddie to live through it or Jim.

Jim- Jim is the potential problem actually. It was an accident but Freddie overheards them talking about it one day, but in his defense, this is his home. He’s supposed to be upstairs resting, he has a phone to call down if he needs anything, but he just had an unpleasant dream. It wasn't an outright nightmare, just a dream full of anxiety that left him waking up with his chest feeling tight. He was sure a snuggle for his hubby or cats would make it all alright, but he wasn't going to call up for that. Especially not when his feet were still so functioning.

But that's when he hears them. He freezes where the landing of the stairs hides him from view as he listens to the voices, his husband, bandmates, and Phoebe. There's no doubt that Jim loves Freddie dearly, they can all see that and are all in agreement, which at least to a certain level is a relief. They had been far less accepting of his previous relationships. Part of Freddie had always thought it was because they were men now, his friends didn't have half as much a problem as with say Mary.

Now with hindsight, however he can see why they didn't like them. Freddie was in toxic if not outright abusive relationships with people he treated poorly that treated him poorly. Christ, he was bitten hard enough to draw blood once, of course his bandmates didn't like those tossers. Now Freddie realizes he really is better than that, deserves to be treated better as he deserves to treat Jim better. No more flying him around on his whim or keeping him along with Winnie, just a true loving committed relationship.

But maybe not enough for 'true love.' He listens on, the problem they worry about with Jim is that they have only been together four years. That's not long, not long at all. Chrissie and Brian were together longer than that. Real-life isn't like Snow White, Jim might well *become* Freddie's true love, but it also might simply not have happened yet. If that's the case, when the time comes Jim might not be enough. There's no way to test this, when it comes time to pull the trigger, Freddie will simply have to have hope and trust. Phoebe is frank, for all the good quality time they've spent together, in love and loving, it remains so little time especially considering their ages. Four years together is everything for a twenty-year-old, but for a forty-year-old?

Not to mention, it seems little time to know the whole of a person, and to know them as your soulmate. Their fears and worries are reasonable and founded but Freddie wishes they wouldn't speak of it because what else is there to do? Wait for their relationship to deepen knowing that any stray infection could be his last with the current state of his immune system? This kind of talk, this pessimism disguised as realism is borderline infuriating and Freddie is ready to storm down there and scold them all for this kind of talk, most especially in his house.

[And then a scary line of discussion. Let's say that Jim is his true love. Jim too is sick and dying, there's no way Freddie didn't at the very least give it to him. Jim assures his love late at night that with the way Jim was with his previous boyfriends and one-night stands, that he would have gotten it regardless of who or when. It was simply a time when they didn't know there was any danger and so, unmaliciously it happened.

When tests became more available, after Freddie was tested, Jim too got a test, only to be told what they already knew. Jim was in much better condition than Freddie, hopefully they had found it earlier that the same steroids that made Freddie's face so round, would help Jim until a cure can be found. But that is wishful thinking. And in the not so quiet whispering that fills his kitchen, they speak of reality. That Jim will grow weak like Freddie and-

And die, though the very idea brings tears to Freddie's eyes. No wonder his boys are willing to do anything to help him if this is how Freddie reacts to it happening to his husband he’s known for a much briefer amount of time.

If Jim dies it will be because there is no cure, and if there is no cure, then Freddie will not have been awakened, and if Jim is dead, then it is possible no one can awaken Freddie. It occurs to Freddie, that as this is a slow sickness that weakens them first, Jim's death will be seen from far out. He'll have to talk to his husband then, tell him that he would much rather be awoken from the curse, to live out his final days with his husband's final days, than to awake without him- but... But once Freddie is asleep he will have no way of enforcing that, and he fears that Jim will find it easier to not do such a thing, to not carry out Freddie's 'final' wishes. The Irishman wouldn't be wrong, only Freddie would be left. Left with the grief.

He scrubs his hair. What terrible thoughts. He must have faith. Faith in his husband, his love.]

But then another voice speaks out. Mary. He didn't know she was here too, although of course he told her just like he told Joe. She hadn't taken the news well, but she hadn't taken it much worse than the others. She tried not to live in denial of what this disease was doing to his body, but this was so extreme not to mention fantastical, that it took a few days to wrap her head around it. Still, as always, she had been supportive and there for him, no matter what or how he wants to do this.

Yet her voice pierces Freddie, and not like a lance through a boil. This stings and hurts without relief. He cannot- Words are beyond him, his whole body feels numb and tingling, and as this strange happening dawns on him. She is wondering, out loud, if she could be his true love. Of course he holds her in high regards and it's good to know she does too, but true love?

He would not doubt that they have the love of friends, their friendship rebuilt after their romantic relationship's destruction. But still, that is nothing compared to his love for Jim, or hell even his friendship with Roger, his best friend. It couldn't be that... But the world is a terrible and cruel place, Freddie must know this by now.

He slowly sits down on the stair's steps with a hand over his heart, he feels burdened by these thoughts as though it weighs upon his already fragile and delicate body. Jim doesn't jump up to say that Freddie doesn't love her anymore, if he ever even properly loved her at all. Or even just mentioning that it has been ten years since they have been lovers, they've both remarried in that time. No instead there is dead quiet that seems to echo ominously in his mind. 

Freddie is torn between wishing desperately he wasn't here hidden away so he could see their faces, read their expressions, and blessedly happy he can't. Maybe this is what they think, that somehow Freddie still is in love with Mary who loves him back. That somehow what got between them was not the reality of the world, and how Freddie is, but something more trivial, the fame, the drugs, even just a miscommunication.

Freddie can almost feel a ruler slapping his knuckles as he clenches his hand. *Homosexuality is unnatural.* And so of course, his love with Jim, with any other man is lesser than. It's just a phase. He just doesn't know any better. Led astray by drugs, sex, and rock and roll.

More than anything he wants to go down there to give them all a tongue lashing, defend and protect Jim and their love, but... Freddie doesn't feel like he can breathe much less move. Maybe that's why his and Jim's love might not be strong enough to break the curse, because they doubt each other in these ways. If Freddie told Jim that Mary was nothing more than a friend, although he had always said so in the past and doesn't know how he could make himself more clear, maybe Jim won't think he is second-best in Freddie's heart.

But maybe Freddie is the problem, because for all that he loves his husband, a part of him *does* still love Mary, even if he would never think of it as 'true' love. She just does nothing he cannot, much like how his love for Jim does not erase his love for Roger. His husband does not take away his best friend, nor for Kash his sister, and there is equal space in his heart for her although he feels so selfish even thinking it. But even as he loves them all, his love is not equal, and he doesn't know how magic will see it.

Yet he is not so selfless as to set them free either, he wants to keep them close and treasure them always even especially as he faces what might very well be his last days.

Maybe he was right to admonish himself for not having faith in Jim, for in some ways he does not. While Mary is the most private person he might well imagine, he can be comfortable that she will never tell their stories, Jim has been far more open and honest with him that he'd like to share their stories one day. He'd like to tell the world of their love, and while maybe he will bite his tongue until the world is a kinder place towards *their* kind of love, he also would be willing to act sooner, to be part of what makes the world kinder.

It's- Bother is the wrong word. Jim has never betrayed him, and while the wound from Prenter is fresh, the very fact that he gets along with Phoebe and Roger so much better is already a balm to his soul. Jim has said that he would never publish it either in 1) Freddie's living or 2) without Freddie's approval. And Freddie didn't lie when he said he wanted them to be honest with his legacy, he's already given permission to Miami, letting everyone know of his plans, that if he should pass, that he wants the world to know it was from AIDS. He wants his fame, and the burning hot spotlight, the pain of the harassing media, to finally be put to good use. It'd be too late for him by then, and they could do so much good in his name for this cause.

All that being said, the idea of being known so personally is... daunting. He's always liked to keep his private life, well, private. Even from his family, that wouldn't understand. He's only been able to really be himself inside the walls of Garden Lodge and in front of his boys. It's true he doesn't always feel like he can have that with Mary, having to play at being happy with her, or being the less openly out man of his younger years, but still, he knows he can trust her with his secret. For example, he's left it in his will that she will be the one to spread his ashes.

So it is different but the same, two halves of the same a coin. He trusts Jim to be himself, open and honest, yet he worries for his secrets. He trusts Mary with his secrets and yet he worries about being himself with her. If the world had been different, if *he* had been different, she would have been his wife. They wouldn't have loved each other with the deep intimacy he shares with Jim, or even like the burning passion of Brian and Anita; no, they would have had the gentle but strong bond of John and Ronnie. But things aren't different, and he doesn't love her sexually or even romantically, no matter how he tried and tried. And oh Lord, did he ever try.

But clearly, there is nothing he or anyone else can do to change his nature, even if it leaves him without a 'one true love'. Without making a noise, he picks himself up and makes his way back to bed. At least Dorothy is there waiting for him, easily and eagerly accepting his cuddles as she seeks out his body heat. 'Maybe she or Delilah might kiss him awake. He certainly loves them too', he thinks greedily.  
-  
There are people, countless people really, that love Freddie. There are even those that really know him and love him still, who Freddie loves in return. Hopefully in all that mess, they will be able to awake Freddie one way or another. Jim promises him, in what might become Freddie's deathbed, that he will awaken Freddie when he should too become very sick, and Freddie tries to trust, to believe him, so afraid of being burnt again. What will he do if he awakens to find his husband dead? It might break something in Freddie that could never recover. But as he stresses this to his lover, the man does seem to understand.

And Freddie can do nothing but hope Jim does as asked of him as the singer gives him a piece of the whole. A key to be more exact. One of three. The key does not lead to treasure although he has countless jewels and priceless antiques. His most prized treasure, he thinks fancifully, is all his as only a golden ring on the fourth finger, no key needed. It's folly, but those thoughts truly do keep him warm as he takes the necessary but ominous precautions should the worse occur.

For this key is to a locked box, containing morphine. How he will die- how he will be killed if one can wake him. It's locked for a simple reason. He's well aware, from Roger's whinging about America, exactly how much suicide and suicide attempts go up with a gun in the house. All it takes is a moment of weakness, of knowing that relief is so near at hand, that people act without thinking. And then- from the few that survive, regret. Overwhelming regret, near 100%, that they had been acting impulsively and did in fact want to live on.

So Freddie wasn't going to leave a lethal amount of morphine around, especially if they were grieving him and the others this plague would take before everything was said and done. As he wants to give them to those closest to him, those that knew him best, and he loved most, he had long thought about giving one to his bandmates. Even if sometimes they got fed up with each other, were more colleagues than friends, other times they were very much his most dearest of friends. However, he couldn't imagine such a request being anything but simply far too much to put on them.

Firstly Brian, who cried when having to kill a bee and was even vegetarian. A human, a sentient being, would be ever worse even though this would cause him no pain or suffering. To say nothing of the fact that Freddie wasn't just any old human but his old and dear friend. Not only would it be so difficult, nearing impossible, for Brian to pull the plug, even if he could bring himself to do it, it would burden him terribly for the rest of his days. Freddie would much rather his soft-hearted friend worry about the plight of foxes and hedgehogs, than this old tart.

Of course, he couldn't ask John. He'd grown so much since being the baby of the group, just nineteen and in way over his head, but Freddie as the eldest still felt duty-bound to protect him. Freddie's sickness had been hardest on John, who's worse fear remains terminal illness, his love ones suffering while he watches on powerlessly. 

Roger is headstrong and could do it, he could move mountains with how fierce their drummer is. And maybe Fred is being a bit of a coward. But he loves Roger so much, they've been such good friends for nearly twenty years now. He just wants Roger to remember him as that fun-loving laughing boy who shared a stall at Kensington with him.

Which is why he gives a key to Miami. Beach has been steadfast through all of this, his only interest being what is best for them, not even what is best for the 'band.' Freddie's 'last' wish of wanting to the world to know he has AIDS was readily accepted by the lawyer, even though realistically it will have a backlash. The biggest will be towards him, they can say whatever hateful things they want about him in the press, once he's dead, but the effect on record sales could be very real. It wasn't that long ago that people wouldn't even touch people with AIDS.

And of course, as he gives one key to Jim, the other is obviously for Mary. They have both taken care of him so well for so long, he has to trust them *both* to do what is best for him. In the event that they can't wake him, or that Jim passes some other way, illness is the very real possibility but that doesn't mean other kinds of accidents aren't still a thing; they must let him go.


	2. Chapter 2

It was just as Phoebe said. Freddie's body remained the same, completely unchanging, under the curse. Better than any coma where the muscles would atrophy, no feeding tubes would be needed, and of course the disease did not progress. It truly looked like he was just asleep and could at any moment awake, if not for the awkwardness of his pose. Jim had never known his husband to sleep flat on his back and with his hair so well combed.

At first, they left him in the guest room where he had wanted to be, out of the way, and undisruptive to the outside world, but then Jim just couldn't take it. He missed him so, and he wanted more than their framed pictures on his nightstand. Even if he was only asleep, Jim wanted to roll over at night and see his husband, feel his heat, and whisper sweet nothings to him in the gloaming hours.

He looked at home there, back in their bed, resting peacefully, surrounded by the familiar bedroom, and of course, the cats. Jim couldn't keep his bedroom closed all the time simply because he was constantly passing in and out, so they would come and check on their owner. They would sit with him, passing the hours, and napping peacefully before resuming their cat lives. Jim didn't have the heart to shoo them away, they meant no harm, and warmed his heart to see it even if sometimes it felt too much to bear- That Freddie was both so close and yet so out of reach.

But as there could be hope for Freddie, even if it is only with a magic spell, there could be hope for everyone else too. That they will make it through, and a cure will be found. However, a cure is not found.

Still, the medicines improve as the doctors know more and the government, finally, finally, starts to put some money into the research seeing that *gasp* it can affect straight people too. It's too little too late for the hundreds of thousands dead, more than many wars, but at least there can be hope for those left. Jim strokes Freddie's hand, more delicate than he's known it but yet not growing any more frail. Not like Jim, not like Joe, who was fading faster than Jim. They could only bide their time and hope as months turned to years.

Queen's name turned from current culture to legacy, as they did not return to touring and did not release new albums. It's other three members seemed aimless as they attempted solo careers, finally having the time to dedicate themselves to things like The Cross. But it wasn't Queen, nothing could ever be. Freddie Mercury faded from public life, and so the interest in him did too. The questions as to what had happened to him were never answered, but there was less and less interest as they stopped occupying the front door stoop.

Is this how the Beatles felt? Like the magic was gone when they were apart, and while yes that did come with the benefits of not being harassed and all the bindings that came with fame, it also felt like they were losing something. Something they had fought so long and hard for as it was so linked to their success. Time passed on as the memory of Queen and Freddie Mercury faded more and more, only a rare news headline or tv spot about what had happened to the band and its lead singer but no answers. 

And still, a cure was not to be found. But, life expectancy was actually going up, the medicines couldn't remove the virus or its damage but they could slow it down, almost stop it and properly boost the immune system. A real fighting chance. At first, Jim was afraid to say anything until he was approached by Brian, the truth of the matter was simply, they all really wanted Freddie back and so it was hard to be objective in this matter.

Thank God for Mary who seemed to be the only one to keep her head screwed on straight as they broiled in their emotions. Some people thought women were too emotional to be politicians, those people were idiots. Some less charitable souls might have seen her detachment as uncaring, but there was no doubt she cared. The only question those that knew her were, is that enough, and to what extent. Certainly, they would not be surprised if they were told that she still loved Freddie despite their breakup and was willing to manipulate him and his guilt for being unable to say with her, not to mention the extremely crummy way he treated her in the end, to cushion her financially.

Regardless of any of their misgivings about the source of her intent, Freddie had trusted her to be part of this decision and she was in a good position to help them, so consult with her they did. She, with the help of Deaky, was able to find a hard number that they could use as a metric for treatment if a cure was not going to be how this disease was stopped. Armed with numbers of rebounding new white cell level counts, inflection rates, and recovery rates from said inflections, they had a clear goal in mind. And the numbers improved, seemingly every day until it crossed the albeit arbitrary yet significant threshold.

As Jim was the one to wake Freddie, he could have done it at any time. He didn't need anyone's permission, or for the numbers to be at any particular level. But he could only imagine Freddie's reaction should he act rashly or uncaring to the singer's wishes, he'd never wish to intentionally disrespect Freddie like that. Phoebe could only cast the spell once, so once -if- Jim broke the curse, it cannot be recast again.

With the band -his professional friends if you will-, and all of his strictly personal ones in agreement, Jim goes to wake Freddie. Freddie looks the same as when he was first laid down here after his finger was pricked. Peaceful if not also unnatural. Even his hair, normally tussled with his movements, remains as orderly as it is maintained in his waking. Jim sits down on Freddie's side of the bed, far from the first time, and reaches out for Freddie's hand.

It's warm though limp, and Jim has done this countless nights as though praying to his own personal God, recounting the day’s adventures and wishing him well, telling him how much he is missed and loved. Phoebe says that Freddie won't hear anything or notice the time passing as he sleeps, but still, even if it is only for Jim's peace of mind, he can't bring himself to stop.

He leans down, almost scared. He's fantasized about kissing Freddie awake for so long, he's dreamed of it. He was always afraid that one day at his side, he'd lose himself and wouldn't be able to stop in time. Which is why it is odd to now finally have outright permission to do this. 

He licks his lips nervously as he leans forward. What if Freddie is angry with them for having woken him under such circumstances? No he must think of that, only of their love. He hasn't seen his husband in years, not truly, and now he is dithering. Being bold Jim leans all at once, no more hesitating, to give him a kiss. No more than a peak really. If this works, Jim will be older than Freddie. For so long Jim has watched Freddie, unmoving, unchanging, that is almost hard to imagine him waking or his eyes opening. What makes this hard still is that this does not happen. 

Jim tries every way he can think of. He thinks of his love for Freddie, this sapling that he had tended and water with care like he did the gardens, but still so young and untested. Terrible future winds had not yet come to see if they would snap under the pressure. But no matter what memory, or how Jim thinks of Freddie, it is not enough. Sleeping Beauty sleeps on. 

As though Jim's heart could not be heavier, his love -though apparently not loved enough- not only will not wake, but now he must tell Freddie's other loved ones this grim news. It was all a risk they knew coming into this, but that makes this no easier. And so, though it may be cowardly, Jim doesn't not rush out to tell them. Instead he curls up next to his husband on their bed and mourns him, and their life together. 

\--

Roger rages, and rages. But magic does not care for his rage, and there remains nothing he can do. His fury burns bright as he trashes rooms of his house, punching the glass and shattering the furniture. He drinks and drinks, far more than anyone is comfortable with. His passion burns hot and wild before it burns out, nothing left to kindle it, and like a puppet with its strings cut. He collapses, empty. His bestest, dearest, closest friend is gone, really truly gone.

Long Roger feared this day, but he lived in denial of its arrival. Nothing but optimism for Freddie who never let anyone see how it was affecting him, and who only wanted to take what little time he did have left to make more music.

Death was inevitable for all humans, but when you're young, especially as a famous, rich rockstar, you feel untouchable. Things like John Lennon's fatal shooting were very real reminders that they in fact too were just human. Then when this disease was first being talked about, before it even had a name, Roger was in denial. Surely not Freddie, not his best friend. Then when Freddie had tested positive and had told them, knowing well what this news would do to them and so had kept it to himself for a while, Roger was sure a cure would come, that somehow, someway Freddie would be saved. When there was no cure, there was Phoebe (and magic!!), but now...

Maybe it was their own hubris Roger thinks as he longs to lash out. There's nothing left in this room that is delicate enough to break under his fist that is not already in pieces. He looks at his knuckles, bloody and torn, but he can't even feel it, so detached from the pain. He just- He just wants his friend back. He feels like a toddler bawling on his room's floor, begging for his best friend to come back so they can play, just one more time. Please just one more time.

He cries and cries until the room's shadows grow long and dark. He wants to see him again, even if he can't hear, laugh, or see his smile, just to see his face, the curse makes him look so peaceful at least. Even give him a hug, knowing it won't be returned. He doesn't know when, but soon, probably within the month, the plug will be pulled. They promised Freddie they would if no one could break the curse, and thank God for strong people like Mary and Beach that could hold the course. If he'd given the keys to only people like Roger and Brian, it'd take much longer.

Part of Roger feels like he is giving up but he just reminds himself that he is doing what Freddie wants. He wouldn't want for them to cling to him- a husk of himself. He might as well be brain dead, in a coma, he can never wake from, and so Freddie's right, and even if it was not the right thing to do it would be just because it was his wish- one of his final wishes.

The Mercury household is in unofficial mourning when he arrives, Joe staring into nothing and the chipper Phoebe looks almost grey. Even the cats seem unhappy, sulking in corners looking tense and unwell. He doesn't have words for these men that Freddie has chosen to surround himself with, his chosen family that loves and supports him unconditionally. Nothing he can say will make this better. At least they are adult enough to not trash their shit in fits of pure rage. God fucking damn it, he doesn't know what he's going to do without Freddie to anchor him.

Slowly, as though his years are weights upon his shoulders, he makes his way up the staircase. Jim is nowhere to be found, hopefully losing himself to the busy work of the garden rather than anything worse. For a while there Roger really feared that Jim wouldn't be able to take it and would do something drastic. 

If Roger didn't know 'better' -although all he knows is what the fairy has told him about magic- he would say that Phoebe is helping him cope with the grief, and no matter how 'inadvertently' Jim feels he is responsible. All Roger wants Jim to focus on is that if they had not done this, although it now proves to be a failure, Freddie would already have been gone with how fast the virus was weakening him. They would have born black and attended his funeral, laid flowers down in his honor. Instead now that is in Roger's near future but he doesn't know how he'll ever be able to bear such a thing. 

But maybe that is why they are all hurting so much, not only have they lost someone they treasure so much, they had hope. Hope that was crushed ruthlessly by reality. Or has it?

Roger stills in the corridor not daring to make a noise, not even daring to breathe, praying that his socked feet didn't give him away. Mary is with Freddie, she's been crying even though her face is dry now and her expression brave. She's been solid as stone throughout all of this, much like Freddie she hasn't let anyone see her weak.

Yet at the same time she has not been anyone's rock, providing them no comfort, and if anything, making them feel worse with her cold, clinical detachment as she processes his affairs, lining up his things to sell, and where to send his cats. It would be a stretch to say that she didn't care, as clearly she does but only for him.

Jim would understand that the house is left to her and has not argued it even as he is basically in remission and could well live as long as her. Roger is pretty sure Freddie would have left it to Jim otherwise, the press and their vultures can choke on it. But the cats? There seems no reason not to let Jim have one, or even as many as he can support, but Mary seems hellbent to strip everything that is Jim from this house, and everything that is Freddie from Jim. Grief is a terrible thing, Roger need only look down at his knuckles to know this, but that doesn't mean it's driven him so far as to hurt another human. No, he learned to never do that from his father.

Still, her rage is as powerless as his. Nothing can turn back the clock and make things different, Freddie will not come back and nothing can stop that ring on his hand for symbolizing his love for Jim even if it isn't 'true.' Unless...

Roger remains there silently as he watches. Mary has braced herself, well aware of Jim's failure and yet... hope- that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without words. Slowly she lowers herself over him, over his mouth. She stops inches from making contact, he can only imagine what she's thinking, how she's feeling, but she was long ago over a dozen years now, his girlfriend and so in the end it shouldn't be too different, even if nothing has changed.

Roger can't believe he's thinking this, what a betrayal it feels like to Jim, but he dares to hope that this could work. He tells himself it's because he just really wants Freddie to wake up, but how can it not also be because he- it's not really a question of Jim and whether they loved each other- is a matter of Mary truly loving Freddie... And Freddie loving Mary?

She sits back once she has planted a kiss on his lips, but nothing happens. He stays lying there, just as still as stone and unmoving. Something overtakes Mary and she looks poised to smack him, fury burning in her eyes. She doesn't she looks down and pinches him once, just to make sure before sobbing. The noise is loud, so loud they might hear it downstairs with how silent everyone is being. So she shoves a hand over her mouth, pressing down, as grief overcomes her.

Roger shouldn't be here, he really shouldn't, and as quietly as he came, he leaves. He can say his goodbyes once she's left. He drinks tea with the boys as they sit in silence, Mary is as quiet as the cats coming down and leaving. She says nothing to Phoebe's offer of tea and the jovial man shrinks on himself. He must feel like this is his fault- Roger certainly does and he didn't even do anything. Phoebe, for all that he tried to help, did set this into motion for all that it was what might well have saved Freddie. But maybe there are somethings not even magic can help.

Once Roger's tea has grown cold, he couldn't even bear to drink it all, he makes his way upstairs. To the unfortunately now familiar sight of his best friend unnaturally still in his bed. He understands why it might comfort Jim to have him close but Roger hates it. He hates seeing Freddie here, where he once was full of life, being so unmoving. He'd far rather see him in a strange, unfamiliar room, far from the daily comforts of home. He looks like he could awake at any moment to look at those pictures on his nightstand or those silly perfume bottles.

He sits at his bedside and just stares. Not at Freddie but at the imprints in the sheets. Where Mary was. Where she placed her hand when she leaned over to kiss him, where her body collapsed where she wept. It's not fair to take out his anger at her, he was already angry before he came her and witness such a tableau, but how desperately he wants to point it at someone, something that he can rip apart and render with his bare hands. But if he can't be angry at Phoebe for trying to help, he can't be angry at her for the same reason. Even if part of him, a voice in the back of his head, wonders if she isn't responsible for why Jim and Freddie aren't true loves.

He shakes his head, smoothing the bedding and erasing any mark of her before pressing his own weight upon it. Normally he sits in the chair, left for just this purpose, for Freddie's many visitors, but today- for their last-

Roger sniffs as he looks away. There are tissues on the nightstand for this very reason but of course John and Roger found joy in teasing that they were for that other of bodily fluids common in bed. He takes a bracing breath, he can do this even if he does it crying, he has a right to cry, to grieve. Because this might well be the last time he comes and visits Freddie, he has said that's what he was doing to himself but he doesn't know if he really will be able to hold out to such a conviction. And so he doesn't want to sit in a chair far away, or even just hold his hand, he wants to get right into bed and spoon his heat, feel his although shallow breathing and slowed heart rate.

With thoughts like those, it's all too easy to see why Jim wanted Freddie back in his bed. Roger runs a hand over Freddie although the sheets and clothing are smoothed back, countless other visitors must have done this and Freddie isn't in a state to be making a mess of them. So unlike his waking state, although a mess is perhaps uncharitable, chaos might be better. 

Roger reminisces on their countless chaotic adventures, more when they were little more than children at Kensington, before everything, before Queen, before Smile, when they were just two nobodies that no one wanted. But they had had each other and together, they made themselves into something, no matter how many rejected their demos or doors slammed in their face, they just keep chugging until they made it to the top. Everything changed, even them, but not their friendship. Thick as thieves, forever and always. Who else would he laugh with and stay up all night playing Scrabble with?

There was nothing he could do for the tears that freely flowed, nor did he want to. Freddie deserved to be mourned, for tears to be shed. They were even discussing putting up a statue of him, even though London would never allow it. Maybe in Montreux. They would grieve for him, cry and wail, and scream, but then they would carry on with their music, with his music, and its legacy. Because Freddie, darling? He was going to be immortal. He was going to live on, not just in their hearts but with hearts of all that knew him, on lips of all their fans as their words lived on forever.

Roger just squeezes his eyes shut and tried to remember, it'd been years but there was nothing like it. Hundreds of thousands screaming shouting, not just their words, but with joy, excitement, and passion. Like a wall of noise. For the band, touring could get boring and repetitive but for many people this was their highlight of the month if not the year, if not a lifetime- that time they got to see Queen live.

Fuck. It would never be the same, not without Freddie his charisma and down right cheekiness, but they'd promised him that they wouldn't let him hold them back. He wanted his legacy to be music, for them to tour, to allow their rights for everything from covers to commercials, for the next generations of fans and the one after that. Music was what he brought to the world, the world's greatest entertainer, and that was what he wanted to live on.

It would Roger vowed, he could hardly imagine himself retired and with nothing to do. Roger was born to be a rockstar and with Frederick Mercury, they were able to make that reality, and he was going to play his little heart out until the day he died. He could have lived on as drummer of the Cross and his solo work, it was few and far less popular but he could try on. But with Freddie's blessing, he was going to shake the band together, or else Brian and John would grieve forever, and they were going to forge on, as they always had.

Roger felt he had no more tears to cry, tired and wrung out. Now all he wanted was a nap. Undoubtedly he'd cry some more, at the funeral, when they finally pulled the plug, and possibly every day after, he can't imagine that a day will go by where he wouldn't think of his dear friend- his *best* friend. He wipes at his face and blows his nose hard, so hard the cat at the foot of the bed gives him a dirty look.

He's going to go downstairs and declare to Jim, a holder of the key, that he's said his final goodbyes to Freddie. Maybe if he says it out loud with enough conviction it will become true. Right now- as soon as he gets up. But he desperately doesn't want, he doesn't feel like he can get his butt up and off the bed. Just a moment more. He reaches out for another tissue.

There's a framed portrait on his nightstand, many in fact. Freddie and Jim in Japan for their honeymoon. Him with his friends like Straker. And... one of him. It's Freddie and him with sombreros and silly expressions, they had been having the time of their lives when those pictures were taken. When the time of their lives was in present tense. He reaches out and drags his fingers against the glass.

He wants- had wanted to grow old with Freddie, they had only met in uni but still, that was most of their lives they had spent together, and Roger would have happily spent another twenty years with him, and many more after that. He didn't- soon he'd was going to have lived longer without Freddie than with him, but if- If he was blessed with a long life, to grow proper old and grey, he'd also live longer post-Freddie than he ever had with him.

The thought breaks his heart like a sledgehammer. He curls up over Freddie's body as dry sobs shatter out of him like glass. He doesn't want that, he doesn't want any of that. Why should he live while Freddie must die? He wants Freddie by his side, for the man himself to bring his legacy to the next generation. He doesn't want to write music any other way than for him - and all their motley crew to rip it apart.

He feels like such a child as he wails- God they must hear him downstairs. But he wants his friend back. He doesn't even care if-if - if Queen were gone tomorrow, all their songs, all their everything, gone. Roger would rather never touch a drum kit for the rest of his life than going one day (one more day) without his friend. He just wants Freddie to open his eyes, to talk, to laugh, to live on, to love and be loved like he motherfucking well deserves.

He can be angry and rage all he likes but Mary's not to blame, no one is. Society has done this, told Freddie he's wrong and broken and unworthy of love. And now even- that this death, that this terrible plague and suffering is his doing. But all Freddie was doing was... looking for somebody to love. He deserves as does all humans, to be known, to be loved.

Roger can feel the tears flowing out of his nose as he swipes it away with a sleeve. He likes to think for the... little- Fuck. For what time they had together, however much, that Roger was that for Freddie, that even though they weren't lovers, and Roger could never be that for him, he knew him and loved him for who he was. His best friend in every way, his soulmate as Jim would say.

Using the tissue this time, Roger mops up the mess. He wasn't just getting snot and tears all over his face, but now where he'd smeared it over Freddie's chest. Phoebe would have to change the sheets, surely not easy with Freddie as dead- unhelpful weight. Roger tries to get his breathing back to normal instead of those hiccuping spasming sobs.

This time he'll get up, he really will. He grabs another tissue, looking at the smear marks his fingers have left on the picture frame's glass. Just another mess for someone else to clean up, God he's such a fucking disaster. He sure if Freddie were here, he'd say just the right thing. 'Cheer up darling, what are you doing crying over this old bitch.'

Roger half-chuckles at the thought. He's gotten to his feet, it's not downstairs but it's progress, even as he sways on the spot rather than walk on. Even if he lives to be ninety he'll never have another friend as dear as him, truly a best friend 'forever' as the youngsters would say. Fuck. He closes his eyes to try and imagine Freddie properly old, grey hair and wrinkled faced, he'd hate it that vain peacock. Wouldn't stop him from acting like the sexiest thing on earth. Oh, God what would he have worn if they'd tour into the 90s? First those skin-tight catsuits, then those tits out singlet, it'd be sure to be a real treat.

"Goodbye, I'll always love you," Roger whisper out into the quiet of the home. Saying this last farewell to his friend, his soulmate, his life-long love- Maybe he really is no better than Mary because just before he takes a step he darts back to kiss Freddie. Just a peck on the lips and how odd the thought but- He just loves him so much, as unstoppable as the sun rising, no one has ever made him so happy and he daresay no one ever will again.

But Roger was right- right to believe in love. The moment his lips touch the far drier one of his best friend, a pulse echos out. It feels like warmth tingles through Roger almost like a bolt of lighting, as he feels it in his extremities. It's the weird stereotypical thing to do, but he reaches up to touch his lips, was that magic? Roger's heard about Freddie's prowess generally from the man himself, but surely there was no way a kiss was that 'magical' without actually being magical, especially when the man was unconscious.

He stands there dazed, just swaying on his feet when Phoebe barges in, Jim and Joe hot on his heels. He looks at them still in disbelief, so that really happened but then... but then why isn't Freddie awake? Was it something else? Has Roger somehow cursed Freddie even worse?

Phoebe has a small glass vial in his hands that he uncorks. It's a testament to Freestone's affable nature that Roger doesn't fret about it being something harmful, but even from where he stands it reaches him. Smelling salts. Freddie jolts, his eyes springing open as he rolls his body away, heaving.

Phoebe recaps it as they stand there, now all in shock. Except for Freddie that tests his muscles, there should be no muscle atrophy said Phoebe, not even bedstores. And indeed as nimble as a jackal, Freddie gets up to embrace his husband. Jim easily and readily accepts, having missed him so much even if his body was still here but desperate for more. Still, he looks over his shoulder at Roger. Oh fuck, what must he think? That he and Roger were an item? Just cheating and hiding it all this time for- whatever reason.

It's only when Freddie peppers him with sweet kisses that Jim pulls away. "I didn't think you'd awake," Jim says honestly, but leaving out the why. That he'd tried and failed, that they had been all but ready to pull the plug.

"But I have," Freddie replies with the cocky attitude Roger so easily imagined of him. It's so nice to have it back too, but he notices that Freddie carefully doesn't say anything like 'there was no doubt'.

Jim cradles Freddie's face in his hand, his face no longer round and plump from the aggressive steroid treatment, having narrowed and thinned as the virus ravaged his body. "I couldn't wake you, no one could, we thought we'd-"

Freddie's brow scrunches, "No one? But then how?" He glosses right over the implication that he is unloved or unlovable, at least by a true love, to focus on the logistics. "What other way-"

"Ah," Jim cuts into to clarify. "We tried- we thought- we didn't know- We had tried people that loved you, 'love-loved' you," Jim feels like a middle schooler wondering if his crush like-*likes* him.

"Romantic love," Joe offers.

"And not," Jim gestures to Roger, still standing there limply. God, does he look as wrecked as he feels? His skin feels red and blotchy, his eyes red too, and probably smeared tears across his cheeks.

Freddie takes half a step but Roger meets him there, hugging him so tight- Christ, he's lost a lot of weight. Fuck, and now he's crying again. "I just- I thought I was gonna lose you, thought I was gonna be without you, I just- I was just saying goodbye but then I just- I just didn't want you to go away, I-"

"Shh, shh," Freddie soothes, running his hand over Roger, flattening down his hair like he used to always do when it was big and teased even though Roger hasn't worn it that way in years.

He just cries and cries, rubbing his fist at his eyes, while Freddie is the one to comfort him. Fuck Freddie just escaped the jaws of death, it should be the other way around. "I am so lucky to have a friend like you," Freddie tells him softly while Roger calms down. The good news is that there doesn't seem to be a dry eye in the room including Freddie.

"And I you," Roger replies honestly.

Freddie smiles as he goes to hug his other friends. Roger just clings on like a child, holding on to the back of Freddie' shirt with three fingers and trailing behind him, as though if he lets go for a moment, Freddie will vanish. It's Jim actually that comes to him when they are all settled downstairs with a spot of tea. Freddie's attention is distracted by the cats eagerly mobbing him. That's the problem when you have something like ten of them, although he seems just as eager to return their affections.

"Thank you, I'm so happy Freddie has a friend like you in his life," And Jim really seems to mean that as he looks into Roger's eye, no signs of self-doubt or recrimination in his gaze. 

Roger's not sure he isn't blushing. "And I'm so happy Freddie has you," Roger replies just as honestly. If it takes a village for a child, why would loving someone be done alone? Stronger together, and Freddie is so lucky to have both of them. Spoiling him really, nearly as much as the cats.


End file.
